


Pretty Damn Supernatural

by castihell (profjim)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, M/M, Psychic Abilities
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-28
Updated: 2016-11-28
Packaged: 2018-09-02 15:47:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8673202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/profjim/pseuds/castihell
Summary: The Supernatural characters, as you may already know them, but with a twist - set in the late 90s, the Enhanced and Psychic community is at large, and impose no threats upon the rest. However, Dean Winchester always was a sceptical one. The only Enhanced he ever came to terms with was his brother, Sam. Refusing to believe that the entire Psychic community wasn't a bag full of dicks, what happens when Castiel, who he eventually falls together with, develops his powers a little later than most?





	1. Chapter 1

“Cas, man, are you all right?” 

He wasn’t sure. Newly stumbling out of Michael’s house party, the floor was still bouncing to Castiel. The colourful lights that flashed inside poured out the glass windows and dawned upon the dim streets. He blinked a few times in the hope that his eyes would adjust to the change in scene, or perhaps his ears and throat, too.

Castiel was about to make a dozen-too-many joke to his pal Balthazar, who’d stumbled out behind him not too long after, still murmuring the (wrong) lyrics to the Beatles track on vinyl that had played when they strode in – sober, not to mention, over three hours ago – but it seemed that his focus had been stolen.

His pale, almost diluted, blue eyes seemed to semi-willingly remain fixated on the boy across the street. Almost as if his glance was glued upon him, he couldn’t redirect his line of sight.

“I’m fine,” he replied, narrowing his eyes at the boy. He seemed almost... almost as if he’d be taller than Cas. 

How many people were taller than Castiel? Standing at 6’0”, he barely ever met boys that could tower over him and were his age.

Leaning upon the brick-stone wall, he toyed with the bunch of keys in his hand. He looked as if he awaited someone’s arrival, which told Cas that he probably shouldn't approach.

As if he was going to to begin with.

Balthazar noticed Castiel still staring at the boy after a number of blinks, and nudged him in his side, smirking a little, suggestively. “You can go over and talk him up if you want. I’ll head on home,” Balthazar proposed, only semi-joking. In counter, Cas turned, tilted his head to a side and shot Bal the signature look that exuded pure irritation – eyes narrowed and scowl mild. 

“Shut up. Let’s go,” he insisted, and Balthazar turned on his heel, heading back in the direction of his baby, his metallic red Jaguar 1987 XJ-SC V12, Castiel following close behind. The crimson-coloured automobile was a thing of beauty even Cas could not deny. 

He had no choice, then again, since Balthazar’s convertible was all that got him around since his bike popped apart and landed itself in the shop. 

Cas suppressed the urge to turn and look at the boy again. He tread along behind his best friend, and almost to his surprise, Balthazar murmured, “You’d think that by now, you’d be brave enough to approach a guy drunk,” with a chortle. 

Castiel shot his friend another look as he circled the car to get to the shotgun’ side of it. “It’s because I’m drunk, Balthazar,” he said, his voice a tad raspier than usual from all the teq.  
“It’s because I’m drunk,” he reiterated, softly, to himself this time. He pulled the door shut after him.

“Yeah well,” Balthazar said, taking his seat in the driver's. “Excuses, I would call those,” he grinned, and Castiel shook his head in mild disbelief, glancing out the window to avoid Bal’s intriguing eyes whilst feeling a smile tug at his bright pink lips.

Bal turned the keys to the ignition then, stroked the steering wheel lovingly as his baby revved to life. He was about to slam the pedal when he stopped and decided to offer his friend a little token for being willing to come with him when he would have so much preferred to laze at the flat and watch some sullen chick flick.

“Do you want to know who he is?” Balthazar asked him then, and Cas’s eyes lit up, his head swivelling extremely quick. Balthazar noted his excitement and grinned. “I can tell you his name,” he offered, and Cas almost agreed in haste.

His senses seeping back into his head a while later, he declined. “You’re not supposed to use it on me,” Cas reminded him, and Balthazar pulled an expression that read Oh, c’mon. 

Bal shrugged with narrow slits for eyes and asked, “If I don’t use it on you, who else am I going to waste it on?” referring to his very specific, and rather supernatural, skill set. 

Cas mulled over it for a second before shrugging. “If you insist,” he replied with a coy tug at his lips once again and Bal turned to face the road instead of Castiel.

“Winchester,” he said, and then hit the Power button to the radio on with a single finger, AC/DC blaring out of the speakers at top volume. Castiel flinched extremely hard, and as a result, hit his head on the ceiling of the car. He pressed a single palm of his to his head for a second to numb out the bump, keeping his left ear covered with his left hand. He yet watched Balthazar’s lips for the boy’s full name.

“Dean Winchester.”


	2. Chapter 2

A hand propping up his head by the cheek, Castiel’s – now, less diluted, - royal blues proceeded to skim through the list of motorbikes for sale in the paper. Running his eyes over every monochrome photograph and meagre description, a sigh snuck its way past his lips every time he flipped another page, remaining unimpressed. He missed his 1968 125 GTR like hell.

“They don’t make them like they used to,” he mumbled sadly to himself, pushing the wooden chair backwards to get up and out of the dining area. Bal had his frilly pink apron that read ‘Cooking Mama’ on – a gift from Gabriel. The punkass enjoyed this sort of thing, actually – and a wooden ladle in hand. Castiel knew Balthazar would bitch if Cas left newspapers or anything of the sort on the table nearing meal hours, so he knew better than to remain perched there, sulking.

Michael and Gabriel were coming over tonight - because it was a Saturday. Normally, they would scope the local record store for new hits on sale or three-for-one deals but it was closed for the weekend, oddly, and so they were left with no option but to sit it out and watch some crap television.

Castiel plopped himself on the couch, a single leg of his remaining dangling over the armrest. He locked his eyes onto the remote, which lay upon the coffee table three feet in front of him, in the barren hope that it would float into his hand.

However, as usual, he was left with zilch. He was sure that by now he had definitely failed to inherit his mother’s telekinesis, as much as he wished he hadn’t.

Bal popped out of the kitchen just about then. “Cas,” he called, noticing his intent glare on the remote. “Are you trying to get it to fly over to you? You seem to be making a lot of progress,” Balthazar joked, chuckling under his breath.

Cas turned his head, a dull look of remorse in his eyes to meet his friend’s. “I, am a failure,” he said slowly, and Balthazar’s lips took the form of a grin.

“Relax. You’re not 20 yet, you still have time to develop your powers,” Balthazar reassured him, despite knowing that the chances of receiving your powers after the age of 18 were slim.

“Liar,” Cas declared him, a dull tone to his voice. Balthazar pressed his teeth together visibly, and raised a single shoulder before disappearing into the kitchen once again.

Deciding that a topic change was probably what he needed, Castiel proceeded to ask, “What’s for dinner?”

“You,” Balthazar responded accusingly with a steady finger, poking back out of the kitchen, “-don’t get to touch any of it until Michael and Gabriel get here. Proceed to sulk, if you will,” Bal joked, and Castiel eyebrows tensed before he resorted to throwing the nearest pillow straight at his friend. Balthazar ran back into the kitchen as soon as he spotted the projectile, chuckling under his breath. The pillow landed with a soft thud upon the floor.

“Your aim is absolute bollocks!” Balthazar hollered from the kitchen. Castiel smiled, exhaling through his nose, redirecting his line of sight to the television.

“You know,” a third voice then emerged from the direction of the front door. Castiel’s head swivelled to look upon the faces that stood beyond the locked grill, the wooden door left ajar. Only seeing one of his two expected friends, he still smiled and peeled himself off the couch. “You should follow us to the range one day,” the voice proceeded to say.

Balthazar’s head popped out from around the corner of the jamb again. “Ah, Michael. Lovely timing,” he commented, then leaving to resume working on his mashed potatoes. Castiel’s eyebrows arched at the scent of it. 'Michael and Gabriel decide to pop up, and suddenly he has the damn energy to make gravy. Bastard,' Castiel thought despite his smile.

Michael undid his shoes, and then stepped into the small flat, giving Cas a brief hug as he made his way inside. Castiel was about to relock the grill when a voice called, “Surprise!” and he stumbled backwards, flinching so hard that Michael had to catch him so he didn’t fall. He’d been standing off to a side that was less lit, enough to remain out of Castiel’s line of sight.

“Damn it, Gabriel, you’re an ass,” Cas sneered, pulling him inside before locking both the grill and the door. A pleased smirk remained plastered upon Gabriel’s face - his signature look.

Gabriel then proceeded to peel off his beige Balmacaan, tossing it to Castiel, who caught it and hung it on the coat stand on impulse. Castiel also caught Gabe pulling out a few VCDs from the inner pockets of his coat before flinging it at him. A potential theory dangled over Castiel’s head, and he decided to voice it out before it was too late, and Balthazar had them all by the jewels.

“Tell me we’re not watching Titanic again,” Castiel groaned, tilting his head to a side with narrowed eyes.

“No, no, no, no, no, NO,” Balthazar began to iterate at the sound of the title Titanic, his voice growing louder and more tenacious he drew nearer, out of the kitchen and closer towards Gabriel. He stopped in his tracks when he stood 30 centimetres away from Gabriel. Lifting a finger, and pausing briefly for breath, he uttered, “I swear to God, if you make me watch that God-awful crap one more time, I will set you on fire.”

“You,” Gabriel mocked, inching away from him, making small strides towards where Michael sat. “Set me on fire. Right,” he intoned with an arched eyebrow and a certain degree of seasonal cockiness. He then dropped himself down onto the sofa and snickered. Michael's lips took the form of an effortlessly charming grin at the sight of his friends beginning to bicker like a married couple.

Balthazar rolled his eyes. “You know bloody well what I mean,” he added before storming away.

"No, actually, I don't," Gabriel replied, raising his voice a little bit, not to be rude, but just so Balthazar could hear him - despite the low sizzling sound of the vegetables on the pan being the only thing he gave a crap about. Eyeing the bottle of gin on the counter by his side, Balthazar picked it up and tilted it over the pan before taking a swig.

"I don't mean to poke, but me neither," Michael added, in that silky smooth voice of his. Gabriel, without turning his head to look at Michael, lifted a hand in request for a high-five and Michael smiled before slapping his palm with his own. "If anyone's gonna set fire to anything, it's Raphael," Michael continued.  
A pout of agreement overtook Gabriel's face. "He has a point. I suppose the farthest any of us go is-,"

"Can we stop, please?" Castiel pleaded, and all of their heads then turned towards him. A single hand rubbing his forehead, sheathing his eyes, they suddenly filled with realisation. He still stood fixated by the coat stand. Frozen in frustration.

"Yeah, yeah, sorry," Michael replied. Gabriel then turned inwards, to face Michael and offer him an expression of confusion. Gabriel shrugged, signing, ‘We were kidding!’ Michael replied with his shoulders slumping, and a gesture with his hands and face that obviously read, 'Dude, c’mon, look at him'. Gabriel rolled his eyes then, turning his entire body back towards Cas and saying, "Sorry, pal."

Michael gave Gabe a brief nod of approval then, to which Gabe rolled his eyes, crossed his arms and leant back on the sofa like a moping child.

Castiel shook his head and dropped his arms back to his sides. “Whatever,” he countered, before taking off for his room.

Once he was out of the hall, Balthazar stepped back out of the kitchen. “Lads?” he called, and the two of the turned to him from one another.

Michael pressed his lips together before standing up, dusting his pants, for no goddamned reason but habit. “I’ll talk to him,” he offered, and Balthazar was quick to deny.

“No! No, Lord. Let him have a minute. He’ll come right back out soon enough. Just,” Bal trailed off, feeling bad for his best friend. “The days are counting down to his 19th, and it’s starting to get dimmer for him. We’ll just try to avoid the topic, then?” Bal proposed, and the other two nodded in silent agreement.

“For his sake, though,” Michael said then, deep in thought - and concern for his friend. He let out a small sigh. “I hope he gets a power parcel before it’s too late.”


End file.
